


hold my hand, i'll walk with you my dear

by sesquidpedalian



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Awkward teens being awkward, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Holding Hands, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, Set after The Creeping Shadow, Sleep Deprivation, making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesquidpedalian/pseuds/sesquidpedalian
Summary: “I’m all right.” She searched for something else to say, for added reassurance, but there didn’t seem to be anything else, so she stared hard at the shadows on the wall instead. She didn’t think about starless voids.“Really, Luce? How many times this week alone have we done this?”“What, the waking up at five in the morning or the drinking tea? I’d say we’ve done quite a bit of both.”
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	hold my hand, i'll walk with you my dear

In the wee hours of the morning before the sun rose, as the sky was beginning to lighten from dark grey to less dark grey, when all but the most stupid and most reckless creatures were sound asleep, resting up for the coming day, Lucy slipped out of her attic bedroom and plodded down the stairs into the kitchen.

Alertness coursed through her veins, warring with the dragging exhaustion of sleep deprivation. She would have loved to climb into bed and embrace the void, but apparently her body was a stupid creature; it insisted on remaining awake despite the fitful rolling about she’d been doing all night. She’d eventually given up and gone to do literally anything else.

(She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing the starless black void of the Other Side. Right then, she could have kissed the deep smoggy blue-black of the early morning sky. It was ugly, but it _was_.)

Lucy set about making tea, and only just managed to avoid spilling hot water on herself when a pale, listless form drifted into the room. Then she realized it was Lockwood and nearly spilled the water all over again.

If normally he was pale, he was downright pallid when he walked into the kitchen that not-yet-morning. Dark smudges ringed his eyes, and even his usual thousand-megawatt smile seemed dimmed, like a lightbulb about to go out. In short, he looked like a ghost. Lucy had certainly seen plenty enough to know it.

_The hollow boy_ , her brain supplied. Lucy grabbed a tea bag and some sugar, willing the practiced motions to drive some sense into her.

_Don’t be stupid,_ she told herself. _It’s just Lockwood_.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Lockwood asked.

Lucy shook her head, too tired to put words together. “Nightmares.” After a brief pause she added, “Tea?”

“Yes, please. Bring it to the living room, will you?” Lucy listened to his soft footsteps receding, as she dulled her buzzing thoughts in the eternally unchanging ritual of making tea. The burble and hiss of the hot water, the faint clinks of mugs moving across the table, that particular creak in the floorboards that always showed up when she leaned back against the kitchen counter; all together, it made for the most soothing lullaby she had ever heard. It sounded like home. Lucy breathed slow and deep as she picked up the steaming mugs and made her way out of the kitchen.

She pushed through the door of the living room to find Lockwood seated on the sofa. The last traces of nighttime painted the room in muted colours. Lockwood sat with a magazine splayed in his lap, but his eyes were focused on the opposite wall. 

He blinked himself out of his reverie and smiled at her as she entered, abruptly lively, and the flash of a ghost-lamp outside carved his high cheekbones and dark hair in sharp relief. She set the two cups on the table, plus some biscuits. 

“Thank you, Lucy. I think you might be my favourite employee at Lockwood and Co.” He winked cheerily, which had absolutely nothing to do with how Lucy’s heart stuttered as she looked at him. Probably just a fluke. A coincidence.

Still, warmth curled in Lucy’s bones, as it always did on nights like this, talking to Lockwood, sharing this gentle silence, punctuated by sips of tea. “Don’t let George hear you say that,” she said. “You know how jealous he gets.”

Lockwood’s eyes shone with amusement. “He can handle a little jealousy. He might even deserve it. Did you know he’s been nicking my choco leibniz? I was saving them, you know, for a special occasion. I was even thinking of offering him one, as a thanks of sorts for waging war with the entire Rotwell agency on our behalf.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “And then it turns out he’s been stealing them this whole time!”

“Yes, Lockwood, you’ve told me this already. Multiple times.”

“Well, it needs to be known. Who can imagine what delicious treats he’ll go after next?”

Lucy let out a snort of laughter. “Maybe you need to give him a serious talking to. Rotwell might bow to him and his wicked burglary, but you won’t.”

Lockwood grinned, easy and companionable. Lucy dropped onto the sofa, feeling warm even though the fireplace remained unlit. She was aware, abruptly, of the distance between them. It felt both like nothing at all and like an insurmountable gap. Another flash of the ghost-lamps.

“Lucy,” Lockwood said suddenly, twisting so he could face her better. “How have you been faring since the Rotwell Institute incident?” He made no mention of the Creeping Shadow or the Other Side, but Lucy could see them both, clear as day behind her eyelids, the moment the words left Lockwood’s mouth.

“I’m all right,” Lucy said. She searched for something else to say, for added reassurance, but there didn’t seem to be anything else, so she stared hard at the shadows on the wall instead. She didn’t think about starless voids. 

“Really, Luce? How many times this week alone have we done this?”

“What, the waking up at five in the morning or the drinking tea? I’d say we’ve done quite a bit of both.”

Lockwood shook his head and cast aside the magazine, along with any pretense of reading it. “You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately, and a tired agent is a liability out in the field. You’re endangering yourself and the others, Lucy.”

Lucy huffed, but he was right, of course. Unfortunately, nearly setting Holly on fire with a magnesium flare (as she had done a few days ago) or hurling a salt bomb at a treasured family portrait mistaken for a Specter (which she’d managed just yesterday, much to the horror of poor old Mrs. Mortmain) didn’t make sleep any easier.

“I need you to be alert and ready for anything, now more than ever. You’re the best of the best, Lucy, but it doesn’t change the fact that you need to rest. We all do.” Lockwood stopped, suddenly quiet. He put his hands back in his lap. Then he reached for his tea.

“I see you’re being an excellent role model,” Lucy replied, unable to muster any real annoyance beyond her initial flare of indignation. She leaned back, eyes sliding shut despite herself. “Lockwood, how are we meant to sleep after what we’ve seen?”

She sensed Lockwood go still beside her. There was a long pause. The ghost-lamps flashed white against Lucy’s eyelids. Lockwood took a sip of tea. “We’ll figure it out,” he said finally. “We can’t let experiences like this keep us stuck in the past. There’s nothing we can do but move forward.” She heard him inhale, as if he was getting ready to say something else.

Then Lucy’s eyes flicked open at the sensation of something brushing her fingers. 

It was Lockwood, slipping his hand into hers. 

Lucy let out what was almost definitely an undignified squeak, suddenly hyper aware of the calluses on Lockwood’s hand, and the blood rushing to her face, and the fact that her tea was going to get cold soon if she didn’t drink it. Oh, and the biscuits. For some reason, neither of them had touched the biscuits yet. Why not? They were delicious.

He glanced at her, watching her face with the same stillness he normally reserved for Visitors, and in the dim light, with his face slightly turned away and shadows painting his cheeks dark, Lucy thought he looked almost _shy_. Her heart did some intricate acrobatics.

Then she noticed that they were still sitting on opposite ends of the couch, arms stretched out awkwardly, Lockwood’s magazine abandoned between them. She met his gaze and he offered a small, tentative smile. Later, she would blame it on the sleep deprivation, but right then, staring at Lockwood in the little, grey-dappled library of 35 Portland Row, the full absurdity of their positions hit her all at once, and all she could think to do was giggle.

The giggling quickly dissolved into heaving laughter, as Lucy pressed a hand over her mouth. (This was more out of habit than necessity; George could sleep through earthquakes.) Once she calmed down somewhat, she realized her other hand was still clutching Lockwood’s. 

He was staring at Lucy, looking bemused and more than a little hurt. “My hair’s not that bad, is it? I know it’s a bit messy, but all things considered—”

Between hiccups of laughter, Lucy managed to say, “No, no, of course not. Your hair is fine. I just—” She waved her free hand in his general direction. “This is a bit silly, isn’t it?”

Lockwood frowned. “If you want me to let go—” he said, starting to pull away.

“No, wait,” Lucy said, more quickly than she’d intended. She squeezed his hand. “I meant the way we’re sitting. There’s a _magazine_ between us, for goodness’s sake.”

“Oh.” Lockwood blinked down at the offending object. “Er, yes, I suppose I could see the humour in that...”

Lucy tossed the magazine onto the table and scooted closer before her mind could catch up and make her freeze. Like walking into a haunted house. Never linger on the threshold. Then she told herself off because Lockwood was _not_ a haunted house. It didn’t help that her heart was still thumping like a frightened rabbit. (Leftover adrenaline from the nightmares. Yeah, that was it.)

“Is this okay?” Lucy asked. “I can move if you’d like. Just let me know if you want to leave, or if I’m making you uncomfortable or…”

“This is fine.” Lockwood grinned the softer, slightly crooked version of his megawatt grin, the one he saved specifically for her and George, and Lucy was certain her face would catch fire. He leaned into her slightly so their shoulders were pressed together. Lucy relaxed automatically. It was Lockwood, after all. He had that effect on people. He shifted, carefully intertwining their fingers in a way that made Lucy’s chest ache worryingly, but for the first time in a long time, she really was fine. She closed her eyes and let her head fall onto Lockwood’s shoulder, her mind blissfully empty.


End file.
